Bliss Street

The mold is not there to piss you off.

Neither is the sky mocking you with its blue.

The sun is shining faintly though, and the light tiptoes on the floor,

And if you hear it, the air carries a song from far away, from another time.

It is yours, all yours, for the taking,

the heady perfume of flowers,

and the burning fields that make your eyes tear up

You take this opportunity to cry, because you finally can.

The ground holds up your feet,

now pushing them firmly, now yielding to them gently.

You walk up the street where the trees are in fall.

The houses are quiet - all is orange and brown.

Everything you have been through

are so many different movies -

their plots do not intersect

and you cannot see the end.

All you know is that you have to keep on moving,

a little faster than the moss that grows.